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Boemund the Knight of Worms
Boemund, often referred to as'' "the Knight", or more commonly, "the Knight of Worms"'', is a Forsaken deathguard who ascended military rank quicker in undeath than in life. His military successes are more prominent in Tirisfal and the Plaguelands than they were in Northrend and Gilneas, because of the invention of the Blight and the subsequent redundancy of deathguards. However, Boemund still remains and continues to fly the flag for the Forsaken in Alterac, where he has been stationed on Her Majesty's order. Boemund is committed to the ideals of the Forsaken, and is ideologically bound to the cause of securing a home for their now swelling ranks. It is because of his new philosophy that has caused him to disregard his living past as unnecessary and superfluous detail; he has enjoyed death's successes more than he has his life's failures. Thus, no one knows of Boemund's former identity, person or nationality. Appearance Boemund's living appearance contrasts greatly to his current condition and mien. His body has undergone dramatic change and so has his garments; from an unarmorial and rather shoddily made wardrobe into the apparel of death and further death. Therefore it can be surmised that Boemund's clothing, to some degree, reflects his successes and failings. Features In Life Boemund was a man of great size and weight in life, and had a countenance to match: The skin of his face was blotched and sanguine; too red to be described as merry, but instead suggested that he was under immense strain, constipated or perhaps simply an overripe tomato. His large cheeks expanded like the great red hills of Redridge, and made his pale blue eyes appear squinted and condensed. For a man who would only live into his mid-thirties, Boemund had dark cavernous rings around his pale blue eyes which often came out as bags of flesh and, surrounding this cellarage, he had gained strikes of wrinkles across his forehead from the unhealthiness of his diet. These marks further folded into deep fissures when he wrinkled his plump, but crooked nose (a veteran badge of foolishness in tavern brawls) to either eat, laugh or belch. In order to eat like he did, Boemound had to have a mouth of great proportion, and indeed he did: It was a sizable abyss into which many produces, meats, liquors and fumes were shoveled into on a daily basis. This mouth was enclaved by a pair of dull-pink and thin lips, which were often eclipsed by a prematurely white and messy beard. The beard was long, and just managed, straining, to cover some of the sweaty rolls of Boemund's gallery of chins with its unwashed and food-flecked whiteness; as if Boemund had leaked the foam of the sea from his nostrils and poured it out onto the bottom half of his round face. Indeed, his hair was a vivid white in spite of his relatively early age, and, atop the sparsity of his cranium there was a half-moon of growth which nearly reached his shoulders - although he would often wear a hat. As for Boemund's great tumescence of a body, he could only be compared to a goblin's zeppelin upon inflation. In spite of various circular analogies, it could be argued that he was more of a plump pear shape; his body had a strange near-flatness at its top which descended into a large meaty girder of flesh around his waist that pressured buttons and belts into holding on with their metaphorical finger-nails. His arms contained less flab than you would think, and had an appearance that would suggest a man of former fitness or swordcraft; they were lithe vestiges of past finesse. In contrast his legs were large and stumpy. Compressed by his weight, his legs became small, chafing, pathetic pillars supporting a greater mass. They didn't see much in the way of exercise and movement. It was this confinement to a chair or restriction of weight that disallowed Boemund from demonstrating his impressive height, (6'2") and therefore Boemund was regarded as a massive, useless lump. However, that would be a description of Boemund in and around the time of his death and, admittedly, the greater portion of his life. For his teenage years and early twenties Boemund was somewhat more active. He had a muscular build which was tribute to the exercise and knightly practice he would undergo almost daily. His face was more defined and sharp then, with his features distinct and less obscured by layers of excess flesh. There were marks of premature obesity even then, such things as chubby cheeks and a wide neck, but, in his youth, people had described him as in 'good shape'. In Undeath The very few who knew Boemund in life and now in unlife often remark humorously that when Boemund awoke he must have had a lot of room in his coffin. Although Boemund was not buried in a coffin, or buried at all, the jest fits the comparison. Supposedly, he had fallen into a cesspit trying to run away from invading undead and had been suffocated by the town's faeces. Then, the natural cycle of life took him, with a wriggling and festering irony. Boemund had laid himself out as a feast for the living who profited most off the Plaguing of Lordaeron: worms and maggots, infected by the Plague, gorged upon his corpse and carried their unholiness unto his body. Rising from the cesspit, Boemund was a tree doomed forever to the barrenness of winter. He was tall, fleshless and had but a few organs and scant pieces of fat which clung to his torso; the leaves of past seasons, prey to the unforgiving autumn of death and decay. He had shed his weight completely, and was marked out from a bare skeleton only by the organs and ragged fat and flesh which the insects had deigned not to eat. Upon reanimation, Boemund was a mere footsoldier for the Scourge. A mindless half-skeletal afflicted with particularly bad rigor mortis. His limbs were stiff and movement did not come easy. It wasn't long before he was discarded into one of the many piles to serve as material for abominations and more cruel mockeries of creation. However, it would be this rigor mortis that managed to keep his bones in good structure. Many of the lesser Scourge began to break down and decompose due to a lack of shadow magic pumping through their undead forms. His good structure and posture meant that the necromancers decided to keep his bones as they were. To make him useful to the Scourge, they replastered him with muddled and mottled flesh (of dead elves, men, children, cows, pigs - the mix is a mystery), and tore off the useless old skin and fat. To bind this new form, they sewed and wrapped iron rivets to press the flesh into its new home. On top of this, they placed plates of discarded iron, steel, bronze - whatever they could find and soldered it to the riveting that mummified him. The process of his transformation was so hastily done that many of his fittings were flimsy and he still suffered intense stiffness. To remedy the his rigid movement, they allowed him more shadow magic, to spring more life into him. The shadow magic had its intended effect, but also allowed Boemund to regain a portion of his intelligence which would later allow him to gain full consciousness and will when the Lich King faltered. Since, Boemund has retained this form, but has had many operations, by the Royal Apothecary Society, to improve the fitting and tightness of his armour as well as build upon its defences. He has had the plates and rivets replaced, with the addition of chain mail attached under the breastplate. Upon the breastplate, the imprint of the Forsaken coat of arms has been scored. Also, to signify his rank, he has had a helm moulded and constructed around his head. This means that his armour is irremovable and permanent; an emblem of his everlasting military service to the Banshee Queen. Thus, all that you may see of Boemund is his rusted and dented armour, and some suggest that the flesh it is bound to has rotted away completely. Personality Category:Forsaken Category:Knight Category:Back story